


Come on Mess Me Up

by unauthorizedTwink



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Blood and Injury, Canon Compliant, Hallucinations, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:40:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27650147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unauthorizedTwink/pseuds/unauthorizedTwink
Summary: Richie isn’t ready to let go
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	Come on Mess Me Up

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from the song Come on Mess Me Up by Cub Sport
> 
> constructive criticism welcome!
> 
> not edited

Richie lay on his bedroom floor. It was the early hours of the morning, or perhaps it was the late hours of the night. The difference wasn’t really what mattered, what mattered was that it was not a time when ‘normal’ people were awake. No, this was the time of the street cats, the drunken college students stumbling out of bars, the hookers, and the wanderers. This was the time when Richie lay on his bedroom floor.

The lights were out and the bed was unmade, with it's sheets spilling onto the floor. There may have been music playing softly from somewhere in the apartment or maybe the sound of traffic and of sirens had blurred into a melodic droning tune. The television, paused on some cheap joke of a reality show, cast an artificial blue glow across the small room. Richie’s glasses were folded up on his chest, shuffled around by the rise and fall of him breathing. His eyes were transfixed on a particularly large crack in the ceiling that he had managed to never notice before.

If asked, Richie wouldn’t have been able to tell you how long he had been laying there, other than it was long enough for the rumbling hunger in his stomach to evolve into a dull ache.

“You should eat.” It was a quiet request. If Richie had been a stronger man he would have ignored it. He wouldn’t have turned his head. But he did. He wasn’t surprised by the sight he was met with. He had been seeing it every night for the last month. It was Eddie. His Eddie. In his stupid blue polo covered by his red jacket. A pristine, untouchable Eddie Kaspbrak. Just like he had been outside that Chinese restaurant back in Derry.

“You should eat something,” Eddie pressed again. His lips were pressed into a thin line and there was visible concern in his eyes. Richie didn't respond, he just looked. Eddie was close enough that Richie didn't need to put on his glasses to see him. Not that he would have anyway, it wasn’t like he was really there.

“Richie, please,” Eddie’s voice shook, “please let me go. I’m ready to go now.” Richie doesn’t know when he started crying. He closed his eyes tightly, turning his head to face the ceiling again. He kept his eyes closed, closed like they were stuck that way until his voice broke the blissful silence again.

“Richie.”

If Richie were a stronger man he wouldn’t have opened his eyes. But he did. Eddie was above him, like he was in that cave. The blood seeped through his tee-shirt and dripped onto Richie’s stomach. Blood was leaking from the corner of his lips. It was the same haunting figure he saw in his nightmares.

“Please.”

Richie screamed. He sat up with a lurch, knocking his glasses to the floor. Nausea came over him as his chest heaved, drenched in tears or sweat, he didn't know. What he did know, is like every night for the last month, he was alone.


End file.
